MADMAN'S DEMISE

12

"Miss Beverly Frazier, the courtroom calls for your testimony."

I looked up at the strict woman standing in the doorway, ready to escort me to the hall, and raised from where I sat by the desk in the middle of the room. My chest rose and fell rapidly as I followed the lady through the broad, high-ceiled corridor, and as she grabbed the heavy handle of the dark wooden door, I took one last deep breath and let go of the nervousness.

I had been sitting in the tiny room for over an hour, longing with every second to be let out. But I already knew the opening statement would take time.

Stepping through the back door of the courtroom, I looked around the crowded hall, spotted both known and unknown people seated on the public bench rows. The judge was seated in the very back middle, the clerk and court reporter opposed to each other in front of the high judge table. The jury box to the left, the witness stand waiting for me to the right.

I stepped forward, took the stand, sat down, and looked around a little more. In the middle of the room, Brandon sat at the prosecution table with Roscoe Van Doren by his side. He was wearing a suit... I had never seen him in other clothing than the soft, white inmate attire part from the day he arrived at St: Nicolai just over twelve months ago.

I was frozen by the vision. It was just something so overwhelming seeing him like that. The white button-up shirt and black jacket made him look so handsome. Somehow he looked so trustworthy even, so serious and professional like a businessman himself. Probably that was the whole idea. It was a kind of manipulation. Roscoe Van Doren was an expert, and he knew dressing Brandon in a suit would help lead the jury in the direction of his advantage.

As I examined him, my heart fell from my throat. He looked unexpectedly calm. Probably Dorothy gave him a fistful of anodynes before they got in here and for that sake I was grateful. It was a smart thing to do, Dorothy knew as well as I.

Brandon and I locked eyes, just for a moment, until I had to look away to avoid suspicion and keep searching the room. And then I spotted him, seated at the defense table to the left of the prosecution. Arthur Barlowe. Brandon's father. The reason why we were here, in the flesh. I was surprised by the way he looked so much like Brandon, only with darker, thinner hair, a beard, and a much older, rougher face. The eyes were the same. Dark brown and filled with mystery. The lips were full, the cheekbones set high, the jawline sharp as a blade. He was just an older version of his son. Appealing, frightening, peculiar.

My examination of the surrounding environment felt like an eternity, but I realized I had just been sitting here for a few short moments as I got interrupted by the coarse voice of Judge Sawyer.

"Will the witness please stand to be sworn in by the bailiff."

I raised from the chair and thereafter spoke my full name after being told to do so.

"Please raise your right hand." Said the bailiff. I obeyed the man, raised my right hand as I listened to the affirmation I was about to speak in front of the whole crowd. As the bearded man went quiet, I cleared my throat and repeated his words.

"I do solemnly, sincerely, and truly declare and affirm that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

The famous oath was now taken. I was ready to begin, to fight for Brandon and undertake the only part I was granted in this incomprehensible matter. I was ready to do everything in my power to make him appear sane, innocent, and fully incapable of murdering women and children.

Roscoe Van Doren raised from his seat and approached the witness stand to look at me. His gentle face made me feel secure. I was excited to answer his questions.

"Miss Frazier, would you tell me, for how long have you been Mr. Barlowe's treating nurse?"

"Since August 13th, 1957." I replied.

"So a bit more than a year?" Added Roscoe.

"Yes, Sir."

"Have you ever been afraid of Mr. Barlowe?" The question pierced my chest, but I swallowed the pain.

"Before I met him, I was afraid of him yes."

"And how come you were?"

"I was told he was a very dangerous patient, and since I knew about the crimes he was charged for and what I was told he was capable of, I was afraid of him." I explained, and Roscoe nodded as he walked with confident, slow steps in front of me.

"What about after you met him. Were you still afraid of him?" Roscoe continued. I hesitated. I was afraid of Brandon for a short while after meeting him the first time, but that didn't really matter in this entirety.

"No, Sir. After meeting with Mr. Barlowe myself, I was no longer afraid of him." I remarked.

"Why was that?" Roscoe twitched his eyebrow, aware this was heading the right direction.

"I found no reason to be. He never threatened me or approached me. Never showed any sign of danger during our sessions."

My own words wrenched my gut in discretion. The affirmation was now broken, and my bad conscience was already gnawing on my insides. I had lied under oath.

Mr. Van Doren continued the examination.

"Ms. Frazier, did you ever question the accusations against Mr. Barlowe?" He asked.

"Not at first." I replied.

"How come?"

"I knew about the case and that Mr. Barlowe pleaded guilty, so I never really reflected on it until now."

"Would you please clarify, Ms. Frazier?" Inquired Roscoe, and my heartbeat accelerated.

"Since Brandon Barlowe himself confessed to the homicides before, I never thought there was a chance he was innocent. But then, when Arthur Barlowe showed up, I figured there was a possibility." I responded. Roscoe looked at me proudly.

"Why did you think so?"

"Because I never thought about Mr. Barlowe as a manslayer when I was with him. He was emotionally unstable, yes, but that does not necessarily make you a killer. When I heard about his father coming forward and pleading guilty, it made sense to me. In my opinion, Brandon Barlowe was never capable of killing women and children."

By now my heart hammered against my ribcage. I knew I was doing wrong and my conscience was devouring me. But I promised Brandon I would do this for him.

For me.

For us.

Roscoe Van Doren tied his hands behind his back and smiled discretely within a proper nod before he parted lips one last time.

"Thank you, Ms. Frazier." Then he turned his head to face Judge Sawyer instead.

"No further questions, Your Honor."